


The Dark World - Alternate

by Velvedere



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor: The Dark World - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Scene, Gen, i'm sure a hundred people have already done this scene better than me, spoiler warning, sticking with the Thanos theory until proven otherwise, uber evil powered Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate version of a scene from The Dark World movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark World - Alternate

_“Malekith!”_

Loki’s voice cuts the air like a whip of lightning through a storm: unfurling coiled power long held in check.

“I am Loki, of Jotunheim. I bring you a gift!”

He releases Jane’s hair and throws her to the ground.

Through the pain, through the rush of blood hurtling commands of get up and fight to the far reaches of his body, Thor notices the hitch in his brother’s voice. The barest hesitation in his pronouncement.

It sounds so strange to hear him announce himself in such a way, from such a place as had only been spoken in hated whispers and disdain until now.

For a moment, Thor doubts.

He doubts everything.

Loki’s ability to throw himself into his role of traitor is all too convincing, and Thor feels a pang of regret – stronger than even the pain of his severed hand – in asking him to do it.

 _It must be convincing,_ Loki’s voice echoes fresh in his recent memory, toying with the dagger’s blade over his fingertips.

He eyes Thor’s hand as he does so.

_If it does not feel real, then it will not be real._

Thor wonders how much of the pain is incidental, and how much is Loki’s doing.

He lies on the ground, out of breath from his fall, and against every instinct watches as the dark elves slink forward to surround them.

“All I ask in return,” Loki goes on, his voice as torn and savage as the wind that bites them with black sand, “is a seat from which to watch Asgard burn.”

The elves survey them, perhaps suspecting a trick.

Thor does not look at them.

His eyes are entirely upon Loki.

His posture. His breath. The way he holds his hands so deliberately trying not to clench. Everything in him screams of aching revenge, down to the murderous glint in his eyes.

It is a look Thor has seen before, and this time it is with as much awe as dread that he fears Loki has gone too far. That he is truly mad.

That everything – all of it, up until now – had indeed been a ruse.

But he speaks not. It is all he can do to hold his breath and feel his heart waver on the precipice of trust and belief as the trick takes root.

Malekith extends his hand.

Jane is lifted into the air.

The aether is drawn from her like a living thing – coaxed, not forced – flowing like rich red blood until it pools in the air. It hovers, power incarnate, casting a reddish light on the dead world around them and the pale, empty-eyed faces of the elven soldiers.

The wind provides the scratch and scrape of its persistent noise. All else is cowed.

And then...

“Loki, _now!_ ”

There is a flex of power. A flash of vibrant green.

Thor feels the magic concealing his hand shatter like a thin layer of ice.

He rolls to his knees, Mjolnir in his grip in the next instant.

The lightning he calls to him then is the most concentrated he’s summoned in a very long time. Not even the bolts he threw in the battle over Manhattan could compare

He directs it, channels it, aiming it directly into the heart of the aether to destroy it.

But something is wrong.

There is another power. Another slice through the air like the whiplash strike of Loki and one of his thrown daggers.

The bolt deflects.

It scatters, striking at several points along the sand to warp the surroundings into glass. Such power sets the dark world of Svartalfheim alight, followed by the sound of crackling, explosive energy.

Thor throws up his arms, blinded, and only barely manages to throw himself out of the way to avoid being struck.

The elves are forced to do the same.

When he next lifts his head, it is to see Loki standing alone before the aether, his hand outstretched.

“Loki!” Thor shouts, though the ever-choking sand in the air grits between his teeth and makes his voice dry. “Don’t—!”

Too late. The aether is already flowing over Loki’s skin with the thick consistency of paint.

It burns red where it touches. Loki makes a sound, like a hiss of pain drawn between his teeth, but the look of delight on his face is that of a small child. Boundless. Undaunted.

And cruel.

Malekith is the first to regain his feet. He screams his frustration and charges, a long blade lined along his arm to run Loki through the chest.

Loki stops it, blocking with the flow of aether along one golden bracer, and turns the dagger he still holds in one hand.

It slices through the dark elf’s throat cleanly, almost neatly, spilling black blood to the ground.

Malekith chokes at Loki’s feet and Loki looks upon him with not an ounce of pity. He does not even deign to push him over with his boot.

“Still a better death than you deserve,” he says into the wind.

Next comes the Kursed, roaring as it charges to avenge its master.

By then the aether has enveloped Loki fully. It lines itself along his skin in the pattern of veins, pulsing with a flow of reddish light. His eyes are discolored with it, the deepest crimson, and from where Thor crouches he can see it even taint it hair: scarlet underlying what had once been raven-black.

He holds out his hand, and halts the Kursed.

“And you,” says Loki, voice echoing with the promise of ancient power. “Follow my _mother_.”

He clenches his hand into a fist.

The Kursed lifts into the air, where it hovers, writhing and howling in nightmarish agony for several long moments before its insides finally erupt.

It bursts onto the sand, and Loki lets the carcass drop.

The remaining elves don’t fare any better.

Thor does not dare rise, or call attention to himself. He crawls his way slowly to Jane, where she lies unconscious, but alive.

She managed to escape the blast.

He shields her as best he can with his cloak, and looks back to his brother.

The wind whips so hard he must squint against it in order to see.

“Loki...”

Loki stands in the midst of it as though untouched, his hands lightly outstretched.

He turns slowly to the sound of his name. His gaze lifts, roving over the landscape and taking in the blood-strewn surroundings as though seeing them for the first time.

Thor can see the lightly raised markings along Loki’s face and hands not unlike that of a frost giant. His skin wavers between stabs of red and blue, sometimes darkening to black.

He opens and closes his hands as though feeling the flex of this new power. Savoring it.

Reveling in it.

A thick cloud of sandstorm brews on the horizon.

Thor direly wishes he could believe it was naturally formed.

He rises to stand, and faces him, Mjolnir at the ready.

“Loki,” he says again, with a sound of warning.

Loki’s eyes at last settle on him. As though Thor had escaped his notice.

He smiles, teeth a white slit against the darkness pulsing within.

“Thor,” he answers. His familiarity is somehow unsettling. “Your plan worked even better than I could have hoped.”

“Loki. Do not do this.”

“Too late, brother.” Loki spreads his hands, his laughter almost a tangible dark. “I have already done it.”

“You cannot control this power any more than you could have controlled the Tesseract—”

“ _The Tesseract._ ”

Suddenly the wind tears against him. Sand bites into his armor and Thor is very nearly forced back.

He spreads his stance, and holds his ground.

“The Tesseract...oh yes.”

Loki smiles, and the wind eases.

Around them the sky grows dark with gathering clouds.

Loki laughs.

“What will you do, brother? Will you strike me down? And after I just defeated your enemies for you.”

Loki scoffs.

“You’re welcome to try.”

Thor says nothing.

His look is hard.

Loki flickers his eyes briefly towards Jane. Dismissive.

“Do not fret so. Your human is safe. That should please you.” He holds one hand aloft, conjuring a dark sphere that begins to grow. “Nor do I have any plans of harming Asgard. Go back home. Your task here is done.”

“What are you going to do,” Thor demands.

Loki’s answer comes with a smile. A slow, particularly creeping grin that makes Thor’s blood run very, very cold.

“There is only one thing to do with such power,” he says, hissing delight.

The darkness grows.

“Avenge.”

Thor hurls Mjolnir with all his might.

It does no good. Loki’s power is too great, even if she had struck. She passes only through empty air where Loki had been but a moment ago.

There is a snap. The sense of an emptiness like that of space.

Loki is gone, leaving behind only an echoing laughter, and dissipating tendrils of dark smoke.


End file.
